


Accurate (To a T)

by emynn



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Cybersex, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Happy Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian and Justin know it’s important to be accurate in all things. Including their t-shirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accurate (To a T)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peacefrog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/gifts).



> Inspired by [this t-shirt](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/emynn18/media/pittsburghshirt_zpsklwzzxrt.jpg.html). This is my attempt to atone for the angst fest of my last story. <3

“Guess what I got today?”

Brian sends the files he was working on to the printer and jots down a quick reminder to have Cynthia push back the du Maurier Perfumes meeting to the following week. Early afternoon is the worst time for a social phone call, but it’s a Thursday, which means he has all his internal meetings in the morning and Justin works at the art supply shop below his studio in the afternoon before picking up his bartending duties. If they’re going to talk, it has to be now, these seventeen minutes as Brian prepares for his afternoon meetings and Justin tidies up his studio. And even though they’re both distracted, it’s far better than the alternative.

Brian doesn’t even bother trying to deny anymore that he turns into a raging asshole on days when he’s not able to talk with Justin.

“A new dildo,” Brian says, rifling through the papers Ted dropped off earlier.

“Nope,” Justin says, a grin in his voice. “Guess again.”

“Well, you had a more than adequate supply of lubricant when I was there three weeks ago, so unless you’ve been _very_ busy…”

“Brian,” Justin says, and Brian can practically feel him there with him, chuckling as he lightly punches his arm before Brian grabs him by the wrist and kisses him. “Not _everything’s_ about sex.”

“I knew New York was going to corrupt you,” Brian mutters. “Now, Sunshine, do you need me to come up there? Are you feeling all right? Getting three squares a day?”

“I’m fine, although I definitely wouldn’t mind you coming up,” Justin says. “I told you, whenever you want, for however long as you want. Even if it’s forever.”

Brian feels a slight twinge in his gut. He’d thought it’d get easier with time, that he’d grow used to having to plan out seeing Justin and checking rates on Liberty Air’s website nearly as much as he checked his own email. 

He thought wrong.

“But since we’re down to thirteen minutes now and there’s no way you’re going to guess, I’m just going to send you a picture to your email. Ready?”

“It’s another piercing, isn’t it?” Brian asks, and turns his attention back to his computer. “Or a tattoo?”

“Better,” Justin says. “Get it yet?”

Brian opens the email (charmingly entitled “the secret’s out!”) and downloads the attachment. And then, completely against his will, he smiles. But since Justin’s not here, he decides to keep it his own personal secret a little while longer.

“Well?”

“You have paint on your face,” Brian says.

“I do not!”

He does, actually, a streak of royal blue across his right cheekbone that somehow manages to make his eyes look even brighter. Brian brushes his finger over the spot, not caring about the smudge the movement leaves on his monitor. “Fine, go ahead. Embarrass yourself in front of all the customers. I’m sure your boss will be pleased.”

“Carol loves me,” Justin says. “Sales are up 14% since I started there.”

“A regular salesman you are,” Brian says. He hears footsteps, then Justin’s muffled curse. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Fuck off,” Justin says over the sound of splashing water. “But tell me what you think of the shirt.”

Ah, now how to answer that? Justin’s wearing a charcoal gray t-shirt, just slightly too snug, which makes it just the right fit. He has a huge grin on his face and is pointing with both his index fingers at the phrase emblazoned in yellow across his chest: _Somebody in Pittsburgh loves me!_

“The heart in place of the ‘o’ in ‘loves’ is a nice touch,” Brian says. “Clever.”

“Brian!”

“Where did you manage to get that?” Brian asks.

“There’s a new thrift shop down the street from my apartment,” Justin says. “They have loads of cool stuff.”

“A _thrift_ shop? Justin, if you can’t even afford to buy new _t-shirts_ and have to get them secondhand…” 

“Stop being such a princess,” Justin says. “It’s fucking perfect, and you know it.”

“I can’t deny it’s accurate,” Brian says, leaning back in his chair. “There’s your mother, of course, and Debbie. Daphne. Emmett. Michael, when you’re not pissing him off by taking too long on the panels for _Rage_.”

“That was _one_ time, and it was because the storylines he sent me made zero sense,” Justin says. “And besides, you know that’s not who I’m talking about.”

“Cynthia?”

“If you were here, I’d smack you right now.”

Brian smiles, although he can see in his reflection in the monitor that it’s a piss-poor performance. “I think we’d be past the smacking stage by now.”

Justin chuckles. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Brian sighs, still studying the photograph. “Justin.”

“Yeah?”

“The shirt is accurate in exactly the way you intended.”

“That’s a very convoluted way of admitting you love me,” Justin says. His voice is quiet and fond and reminds Brian of lazy Sunday mornings spent lounging in bed and gracing each other with soft touches and gentle kisses. 

“I do,” Brian says. The words don’t come easily, and maybe they never will. But that’s why it’s important he continues practicing. “I love you.”

“Brian,” Justin says. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

“Yeah, I do,” Brian says. Because Justin deserves to hear them. And because Brian’s not going to let him forget. It’s harder to show him, what with most of their communication over phone or email, and Brian needs to use every tool in his belt. Particularly since his usual chosen tool beneath his belt is worth jack shit in their current situation.

Justin exhales. “Well, that’s a relief. The shop doesn’t take returns, and I’d hate to be wearing a t-shirt with a lie on it.” 

Brian snorts. “Twat.”

“Yeah,” Justin agrees. “I love you, too.”

~*~

Brian stops by the CVS on his way home from work and prints out a 5 x 7 of the photo.

~*~

Brian grabs the lubricant from the bedside table and brings it over to his desk. If somebody had told him ten years ago he’d be hard all day thinking about the sex he’d have over a fucking computer, that he’d look forward to that virtual encounter _far_ more than fucking the hottest trick in Babylon, he would have laughed in their face. And yet…

Justin’s face pops up on the screen, and Brian quickly accepts the call. “Hey.”

“Hey, Brian,” Justin says. He runs his hand through his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes, and Brian can nearly feel silky phantom strands beneath his fingers. “How’s it going?”

It’s just one of the many things Brian hates about this whole long-distance relationship bullshit. He’s fucking horny as hell, and he knows Justin is, too. They’d been exchanging increasingly graphic text messages since before Brian had even had his morning coffee. And instead of just grabbing Justin the second he sees him and pulling him into a fierce kiss, rendering all forms of conversation unnecessary until after they’ve both found their release, they’re forced to first go through all the social niceties and make small talk.

 _Small_ talk. 

“Not bad,” Brian says, unbuttoning his jeans. He peers closer at the screen. “What are you wearing?”

Justin laughs, then adjusts his screen so Brian has a better view, confirming his suspicions. “It’s your favorite t-shirt.” 

Brian rolls his eyes. “You’re actually wearing it again?”

“Some of us wear our outfits more than once, Mr. Kinney,” Justin says. “And don’t give me that look. Michael told me you put the picture of me wearing this very shirt on your refrigerator.”

“I think I like it better when the two of you are bickering,” Brian mutters, idly contemplating how he’ll make Mikey pay for proving yet again he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. 

“Liar,” Justin says. He peers closer at the screen. “What are you wearing? I can only see your face. Push your laptop back and angle up.”

“Fuck, no,” Brian says. “That’ll give me a double chin.”

Justin laughs outright at that. “Brian, hate to tell you, but I’ve seen you from each and every angle, and spotted the occasional double chin. And even so, you’re still the hottest guy in Pittsburgh.”

“What fucking good is being the hottest guy in Pittsburgh?” Brian asks.

Justin smiles, but there’s a bit of sadness in the corner of his mouth. “And in New York. Easily.”

“Hmm.” Brian unzips his fly and shoves his jeans down his legs. “So which angle would you say is your favorite?”

“Hard to say,” Justin says, and Brian can tell he’s working at his pants, too. 

“How hard?” Brian asks, squirting some of the lubricant onto his hand.

“Very,” Justin says. His breath hitches a bit, and he goes to lift his shirt over his head.

“Wait,” Brian says. He wraps his hand around his cock, slickening it. “Leave it on.”

Justin raises an eyebrow. “My, my. _Someone_ has a kink.”

“ _Someone_ has been hard since breakfast since _another_ someone thought he’d be clever and send a picture of his morning wood.”

Justin’s tongue flicks out over his lower lip. “Show me.”

Brian stands, slowly stroking his cock. “How’s the view?”

“Perfect,” Justin says. “Fuck. You really do have the most gorgeous dick.”

Brian sits back down and, giving in, tilts back the screen of his laptop so Justin should be able to have a better view of both his face and his hard on. It’s yet another one of his least favorite things about cyber sex, that their views are so limited. Brian wants nothing more than to see Justin’s entire body, to see his dick rising from the nest of dark blond curls and the way he can’t quite hold back the thrusts of his hips as he jerks himself off. But then he wouldn’t be able to see his face, wouldn’t be able to see the way he bites his lip and closes his eyes or the way his cheeks flush and sweat beads on his forehead.

He wouldn’t be able to see that fucking t-shirt.

“What would you do with it if I was there?” Brian asks. 

“I’d lick it,” Justin says immediately. “Root to tip. Right along that vein. The one that always makes you gasp, and it still surprises you every time.”

Brian, who’d been lightly trailing his finger up that very vein, exhales sharply. “Fuck.”

“Later,” Justin promises. “Christ, Brian, do you know how hot you look when I blow you? I swear I dream about it every night.”

“Tell me,” Brian says.

“You get so fucking hard,” Justin says. “I always think there’s no way you could get harder, but you do. I can’t stop touching it. Stroking it. Sucking it.”

“Fuck,” Brian mutters. He circles the head of his cock, just the way Justin always does with his tongue. “Fuck.”

“And you get this look on your face,” Justin says. “Like you can’t tear your eyes away from me.”

It’s true. It’s damn near impossible to resist the sight of Justin looking up at him, even if it ultimately ends up hastening his climax. Brian doesn’t even care anymore. It’s always worth it.

“But then you just lose all control. You can’t help yourself.”

“I’m _always_ in control, Sunshine,” Brian says. “As a demonstration, right now I’m going to need you to push your chair back about six inches so I can actually see your dick.”

Justin laughs and obliges. It’s worth the small sacrifice of not having as detailed view of his face. Justin’s not wearing any pants, and his cock is hard and leaking pre-come. “Better?”

“It’ll do,” Brian says, and reaches down to cup his balls with his other hand. He can already tell they won’t last long this round. And while there’s nothing wrong with chatting over webcam naked, it’s nowhere near as satisfying as doing it together in bed as they allow themselves time to recover and get ready for another go. Yet another drawback of cyber sex.

“Good,” Justin says, slowly fisting his cock. “And as I was saying, you may be in control of your dick, but not your face. Your face says everything.”

“And what’s that, Sunshine?”

“That you’ll get lost with me,” Justin says, and each of his sentences is punctuated with a low moan. “That I’m the only one you’ll ever do that with. The only one you’ll ever open yourself up completely to. The only one who can make you feel like that.”

“Fuck, Justin…”

“I’ll swallow your cock,” Justin says, his voice low, his hand moving faster over his dick. “I’ll grip your thighs so tight they’ll be bruises the next day, but I still can’t completely stop the way your hips thrust toward me. You’re so hard, Brian. So fucking beautiful. And then I stand up so I can kiss you, and your tongue just fucks my mouth, tasting yourself, and I’m the only one who gets to have this. Who gets to have you this way.”

Brian can practically feel Justin’s mouth on his. Just the thought of feeling his lips move against his, tasting him, drawing him in even closer, is nearly enough to make him come. “Justin,” he says, and he knows his voice has a desperate edge to it and is completely beyond caring, “I need to fuck you.”

“Do it,” Justin says, and Brian’s gratified to hear he sounds just as far gone. “Spread me over the side of the couch and just fuck me.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Brian says. He wants to close his eyes and lose himself in the moment, so he can pretend Justin actually is bent over in front of him, but he’s not willing to sacrifice these precious few moments when he’s actually able to see Justin’s face, even if it’s only on a computer screen. “So hot, so tight. Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” Justin says, and groans. The hand that’s not stroking his cock is rubbing small circles around his nipple, the one where he used to have a nipple ring. It’s still extra sensitive, even years after he removed the piercing. “Fuck, your dick always feels so amazing inside of me. So full. I feel…”

“Yes?”

“I feel…”

“Justin.”

“ _Fuck_ , Brian,” Justin says, breathless. “Fucking _fuck_ me.”

“Harder?”

“Yes.”

Good, because it’s the only thing Brian can think of right now. “That’s it. Just feel it, Sunshine. Feel my cock slamming into you. And it feels so good, so fucking good, and I have my hand on your cock, and you’re moaning, you’re reaching back to grab my thigh, push me in deeper, deeper… _fuck_.”

“Brian!”

“You gonna come, Sunshine?” Brian asks. “You’re gonna come on my cock?”

“Please,” Justin whines.

“Do it,” Brian says. “I want to see it. Come on, Justin. Come for me.”

That’s all it takes. Justin, throwing his head back, comes with a sharp cry. The sound is all it takes to send Brian over the edge. He pumps his cock hard and fast, shooting his come over hand and chest. 

The only sounds for a long while were both of their harsh breathing. Justin laughs a bit, then reaches out his hand toward the computer screen. At first Brian, apparently still lightheaded from his climax, thinks Justin figured out a way to reach through their computers to touch him. But Justin only wipes at his monitor and then leans back. 

“Got a bit of come on the computer,” he says.

“Impressive,” Brian says. “You also got some come on your heart.”

“My…” Justin looks down at his shirt, which is also splattered with come. “I’ll put it in the wash.” He chuckles again. “You should sell that to Hallmark. _Roses are red, though we’re far apart, if you come with me, I’ll come on my heart_.”

Brian snorts. “I’ve always appreciated your subtle innuendo.”

Justin grins. “So. Not bad, huh?”

Brian bites the inside of his mouth. Not bad. It’s basically as good as they can get these days. Brian’s confident there’s nobody on this planet who has better cyber sex than them. It would be exceptional by anybody else’s standards. But for them? 

Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of Justin’s skin against his. 

“It would have been better if it had been my come staining your shirt instead of your own.”

Justin quirks his eyebrows and gives that little mischievous smirk that always makes something tighten in Brian’s chest. “I agree, but then, you realize the shirt would be entirely inaccurate.”

Brian leans back in his chair, grabs some tissues from the box on his desk, and starts cleaning himself off. “How’s that?”

“Well, if your come was on my shirt, it would mean you were in New York,” Justin says. “So the person who loves me would be in New York, not Pittsburgh. So really, there’d be no point in my wearing this shirt.”

“Or any shirt at all,” Brian says. He crumbles up the tissues and tosses them in the trash. “But I suppose that’s a fair point. I’ll just have to get one of those ‘I Love New York’ shirts since you’re so concerned about the veracity of t-shirt slogans in your vicinity.” 

Justin laughs outright at that. “I’ll have one waiting for you for your next visit.”

“Well, better get a move on,” Brian says. “Because I’ll be there Friday.”

Justin blinks. “This Friday?”

“Yeah,” Brian says. “Are you free?”

“I keep telling you, you can come up whenever you want. I’m just surprised you didn’t say anything earlier.”

“I only decided just now,” Brian says. He opens up a new tab on his computer and pulls up Liberty Air’s website, minimizing it as much as he can so he can still see it while also seeing Justin’s face.

Justin’s face, of course, is not to be missed. Right now he’s smiling fondly at Brian, his gaze soft. “I love you, too.”

“Well, don’t you forget it before I show up on Friday,” Brian says, quickly scrolling through the options.

“I’ll prove it to you with one of those t-shirts..”

Brian laughs. The night’s looking better already.

~*~

Justin’s wearing his Pittsburgh t-shirt when he meets Brian at the airport. 

“Thought you might want to see what it looks like in person,” he says, grinning up at Brian.

Brian pulls the shirt off of him the second they reach his apartment. 

It’s important to be accurate, after all.

~*~

Brian finishes drying off and wraps the towel around his waist as he leaves Justin’s bathroom. Justin had declined to join Brian in the shower, saying he had to call his agent and talk about a little problem with his upcoming show. It must be a bigger issue than Justin let on, Brian thinks as he makes his way to the bedroom, since he can still hear him on the phone. 

He picks his jeans up from where they were thrown to the floor earlier, but when he goes to grab a fresh shirt to change into, he can’t find his suitcase. Brian frowns; he could have sworn he brought it into the bedroom, but it’s definitely a possibility he left it by the front door. It’s hard to keep track of these things when your primary focus is getting Justin Taylor out of his clothes as quickly as possible.

Justin, for god knows what reason, has changed back into that fucking t-shirt. He grins when he sees Brian and gives him a little wave. “Yeah, I agree,” he says into the phone. “Okay. I’ll stop by on Monday and we can go over it then.”

Brian glances around the space, but his suitcase is nowhere to be seen. That is fucking ridiculous, given how Justin’s apartment, while a great deal nicer than the dump he lived in when he first moved to New York, is roughly a quarter the size of Brian’s loft. There’s literally no fucking place it could hide.

Justin sets his phone down and turns to Brian. “Ready for dinner?”

“I would be if I could find my fucking suitcase,” Brian says.

“Suitcase, hmm? Did you bring one of those?”

Brian closes the gap between Justin and himself in two long strides, grasps him by the ass, and pulls him flush against him. “Sunshine, what did I tell you about appropriating my things? If you want me to walk around naked my entire visit, you only need to ask. Stealing my luggage is a _tad_ excessive.”

Justin bites the side of his jaw. “Who says I took it?”

“Well, unless somebody managed to break in while I was in the shower and you were chattering away…”

“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” Justin says. “Suitcases can’t just walk away on their own.”

“Mmhmm,” Brian says, and gives Justin’s ass a tight squeeze. “Well, then unfortunately it looks like we won’t be going out to dinner. Unless that little Italian place you’ve been raving about is a shirts-optional establishment.”

“Sadly, it’s not,” Justin says, wriggling free. “Fortunately, I have something for you to wear.”

“I’ve been working my pecs and arms this week,” Brian says, watching Justin dig through an end table drawer. “I doubt I’ll fit into anything of yours.”

“Don’t worry, Brian, this is just for you,” Justin says, and holds up a white t-shirt.

Brian sees the giant red heart first. “I’m not wearing a fucking ‘I Love New York’ shirt,” he says.

“Some thanks I get,” Justin says, and although his tone is offended, there is so much amusement on his face that Brian knows he’s been planning this all week. “After I go through all that trouble of finding you a t-shirt you _specifically_ said you wanted, now you’re acting like you never asked for it in the first place.”

“Some trouble,” Brian says. “They sell these on every streetcorner. You probably bought it on your way to JFK.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be a princess over a t-shirt,” Justin says. “Again.”

“That’s just it,” Brian says. “When have you ever seen me wear a t-shirt? Particularly one that’ll make me look like a fucking tourist?”

“About sixty seconds from now, when you realize the man you’re in love with bought it for you as a reminder of how you’ll always have a home in New York and how there will always be somebody who loves you waiting for you here, and that you could continue bickering with him about it, _or_ you could put it on and see how he smiles at you all evening like you’re the best thing in his life before he takes you home and sucks your brains out through your dick.”

Brian blinks. “You make a compelling argument.”

Justin waves the shirt in front of him like a matador waving a red flag at a raging bull.

Brian sighs and snatches the shirt. “This better be one hell of a blow job,” he mutters, tugging it over his head. He runs his fingers through his hair, and is promptly blinded by a flash of light. “What the fuck?”

Justin grins at him, a camera in his hands. “I want to remember this,” he says. Brian flips him off, but Justin only laughs and snaps another shot. “Beautiful, beautiful. _Work_ that t-shirt. Give me _more_ , Kinney.”

Brian wrestles the camera out of Justin’s hands. He even manages to get a few photos of Justin in before he starts tickling his ribs. Brian falls back on the couch, the sound of his laughter blending with Justin’s. In between protests and kisses, Brian can hear the shutter clicking away.

He hopes there’s a shot of Justin with a double chin.

He’d probably still look fucking gorgeous.

~*~

Brian looks down at the photostrip in his hand. Justin had dragged him into a movie theater on their way back from dinner so they could have yet another photoshoot, this time in one of those cheesy photobooths probably more commonly used by greasy teenagers for a quick blow job before Mommy and Daddy picked them up from their hot date.

Justin, without a trace of irony, proclaimed them to be some of the best photos of them to date, and Brian has to admit they definitely have their charm. Their irrepressible smiles distract somewhat from their completely ridiculous t-shirts.

But he can’t help but feel there’s something entirely wrong with the photos. Something off. Something just screaming out at him that’s in desperate need of fixing.

And he knows exactly what it is.

Before he can lose his resolve, he picks up his phone and calls Justin. He gets his voicemail, as he knew he would; it’s a Thursday evening, after all.

“Pending your approval, I think it’s time we retire your Pittsburgh shirt,” Brian says. “For one, it has more stains on it now than some of my come towels. For another, I’ve realized that the phrase on the shirt you gave me has far more meaning for both of us… and also has far more potential. Given our mutual high regard for the integrity and accuracy of the slogans on our apparel, this seems like the logical next step. So… think about it.” He pauses. The time for playing it cool, for assuming Justin knows how he feels about him, has passed a long time ago. For matters this important, he needs to lay all his cards out on the table. “Without you, that shirt means nothing. But for you, I’d wear it every day of my fucking life.”

His thumb lingers over the button to end the call. “I love you,” he adds.

Then he hangs up and waits.

~*~

Brian fucking hates waiting.

To be fair, he did tell Justin to think about it. It would be a big step for them, and the last thing Brian wants is for Justin to feel obligated to agree to him moving to New York. Brian’s replayed his message over and over in his head, wondering if maybe he should have said more, or maybe he should have said less, or maybe he just should have fucking waited for Justin to flat out say he wanted him to move up there instead of all those coy hints he’s been dropping ever since he moved there. 

Brian glances at his phone during the elevator ride up to his loft, then quickly scrolls through his emails. Nothing new. Nothing since that one quick text from Justin at 3:47 AM on Friday morning: _Got your message. Talk soon. Love you._

He’s just going to have to have a word with Justin about the definition of the word “soon,” because as far as Brian’s concerned, anything longer than 48 hours definitely does not fall under that umbrella.

Brian drops his briefcase on the table and loosens his tie. He couldn’t stand being at the office any longer, but he still has several hours of work left to do. He starts brewing himself a cup of coffee, reaching into the cabinet for a mug.

And then stares.

He’s nearly positive he doesn’t own a mug with the infamous “I Love New York” logo emblazoned on it, and yet here it is in his hands.

Immediately suspicious, he begins rummaging through all his cabinets and drawers. When he doesn’t find anything else there, he moves over to his desk. Right next to his laptop is an “I Love New York” notepad, and when he opens the top drawer, he’s greeted by half a dozen pens with the same logo. He turns to look at the couch, where a white teddy bear with the logo embroidered across his belly is smiling up at him, a matching black baseball cap perched sideways on his head. Brian picks up the hat, traces his finger over the red heart, his own heart pounding loudly in his chest. 

He’s about to investigate his bedroom to see if they make “I Love New York” dildos when a familiar sound comes from his laptop. He quickly turns back to it, where, to his complete lack of surprise, Justin is waving to him.

He’s also wearing an “I Love New York” t-shirt.

“Hey,” Justin says, grinning. “Ted told me you left work early. Rough day?”

Brian sits down in the chair and places the cap on the table where he knows Justin will be able to see it. “You really want to talk about work?”

Justin raises his eyebrows, looking far too pleased with himself. “Nice hat.”

“Yeah,” Brian says. “It matches your shirt.”

Justin, feigning surprise, looks down at his chest. “Fancy that!”

Brian’s not sure if he wants to laugh or puke. “Justin.”

Justin’s smile softens. “I decided it was time to retire the Pittsburgh shirt. Provided the reason it’s being retired is because the meaning is no longer geographically accurate.”

“Well, it’s kind of fucking stupid to wear that shirt here in Pittsburgh,” Brian says. “Why should I announce to the world I’m yearning for a life in New York when I could actually fucking _be_ there?” He pauses. “And be _fucking_ there.”

“Fair point,” Justin says. “Now, would you be fucking me in New York while wearing your new boxers?”

“There are boxers?”

“Oh, I must have called before you made it to the bedroom,” Justin says. “Sorry to spoil the surprise.”

Brian shakes his head. “Did you consider surprising me earlier and not waiting three days so play the role of the I Love New York Fairy?”

“I would have,” Justin says. “Except apparently you resisted all of Michael’s attempts to lure you out of your loft this weekend. In fact, he described you as ‘wallowing’ and ‘having an epic sulk.’ Had to wait until you went to the office so Daphne could decorate.”

“Definitely liked it better when you were bickering,” Brian mutters. More loudly, he says, “And you never thought of just saying you’d be okay with me moving up there instead of just leaving me hanging?”

“What can I say,” Justin says. “You’re the one who taught me the importance of a grand gesture. Especially when it’s something this important.” He pauses. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

Brian picks up the cap and places it on his head. It feels comfortable, snug and secure, as though he should have been wearing it all along. “Believe it, Sunshine. I’ve already started talking to Theodore about the logistics of setting up a branch in New York. Just need to sort out the capital.”

“You can use the ‘I Love New York’ piggy bank I got you, save all your pennies” Justin says, grinning. He tilts his head. “You should wear hats more often. You look hot.”

“They fuck up my hair,” Brian says, but he can’t quite hold back a smile. He has a feeling it’s going to be a permanent struggle in the coming weeks, and one he’s less and less concerned about fighting.

“Won’t make much of a difference after I spend an hour riding your cock after being _incredibly_ turned on seeing you in that hat,” Justin says. “You’ll have unstoppable sex hair.”

“Is that a promise?” Brian asks.

“The Justin Taylor guarantee,” Justin says. He leans forward, so close Brian can practically count each and every eyelash. “This is really what you want, right? You don’t feel obligated to move up to New York, for me or for … the integrity of t-shirts? I don’t want you to regret uprooting your entire life.”

Brian sighs, taps one of his new pens on his desk. The truth is, it doesn’t feel like uprooting his life at all. There’s no inner turmoil, no worries, no lingering questions or doubts. In fact, he feels calmer than he has in months. Years, even. 

It feels like he was finally going where he was meant to be.

“Justin, I told you I’d be willing to wear that shirt for the rest of my life if it meant I got to see you every day,” Brian says. “If I’m willing to look like a middle-aged dad on vacation in New York, I think it’s safe to say I’m pretty sure.”

Justin smiles, and it’s Brian’s favorite kind, the kind that lights up his entire face and is directed solely at him. “You’d be a thousand times sexier than any tourist who walks through this city,” he says. “By the way, did you check your bottom right desk drawer?”

Of course he hadn’t. Brian pulls it open and finds a simple black picture frame resting on top of his files. He smiles as he looks at the picture. It must have been one they accidentally took while they were wrestling for the camera last week. They’re lying on top of the couch, a blur of motion, but somehow the camera managed to focus on their wide grins and their fingers entwined together. Brian presses his finger to the red heart on his chest. 

“Turn it over,” Justin urges.

Brian does. Taped to the back of the frame is a square keychain. At first glance he thinks it’s another “I Love New York” souvenir, but upon closer inspection he realizes that one side of the keychain is actually a photo of him in his t-shirt flipping Justin off. The other side is a shot taken at the movie theater, with Justin ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek. 

“I figure we’ll have to find a new place,” Justin says. “A home that’s perfect for both of us. And you’ll need something special to hold that key.”

Brian clenches the keyring in his fist. Once upon a time he would have outright mocked anyone who kept such a trite reminder of their relationship status on such a mundane item as a keychain, and he would have cut off his own dick before he had one for himself. But now when he holds it in his hand, he feels only warmth, a reminder of just who he’s coming home to, and the reason he has a home to return to at all.

_Home._

That’s what New York is.

That’s what Justin is. 

And that’s where Brian will be.


End file.
